


begin again

by curiositykilled



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Adam (Voltron) Lives, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Black Paladin Shiro (Voltron), Past Relationship(s), Slow Burn, The Gays Don't Die™ AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-17
Updated: 2018-09-17
Packaged: 2019-07-13 17:20:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16022456
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/curiositykilled/pseuds/curiositykilled
Summary: After everything, after heartbreak and resurrection, they find a new place for each other in their lives.





	begin again

                  He only sees it by chance. It's a small miracle he didn't find out in public, but it doesn't feel like one at the moment.

                  He's making lunch - squeezing his sandwich into a container that's really meant for cut veggies instead - when he catches the flicker of something familiar out of the corner of his eye. He looks up as the broadcaster mentions the Garrison, and his hands freeze where they are.

                  "After four years, the missing members of the Galaxy Garrison return to Earth," the broadcaster says. "The Garrison hasn't released details, yet, but they have confirmed that all four students have returned - along with the pilot of the tragic Kerberos mission five years ago, Captain Takashi Shirogane."

                  They carry on with speculation and discussion, but Adam doesn't hear the rest. He can't look away from the picture frozen on the screen. Some of the people are total strangers, and he only sort of recognizes the missing students - but he's not really looking at them.

                  At first glance, he can't believe it's Takashi. It's been five years. Five years of moving on, four of grief. There are times now when it seems like their whole time together was a fever dream. It's some sort of defense mechanism, he imagines, a way for his mind to compensate for the impossibility of such an integral part of his life being ripped away forever. Now, though, that distance is gone.

                  It's impossible to miss how different Takashi looks. He still has that easy smile that had half the school tripping over their feet for him, but there's a new fatigue in his eyes. His hair is a shocking white, the scar cutting across his face stark. And of course, his arm.

                  Adam feels blindly behind himself for the counter edge and settles heavily against it. It feels, suddenly, as if he's just been hit by a Mack truck. There's no strength left in his body.

                  He'd been so angry with Takashi, so hurt; then, the regret that their last conversation had been so bitter; and then - and then the grief had settled in his chest like a missing beat to his heart. He didn't have the privilege to grieve Takashi the way he would've; it was a quiet mourning, shared only with his mom and closest friends. It had taken the failure of the mission for Adam to realize that he'd been holding out hope on a second chance. They'd been a beautiful almost that went up in flames.

                  The news moves on, and Adam's left staring through the screen as if it isn't there. Finally, rotely, he closes the lid on the container, drops it in his bag, and heads to work.

                  What else can he do? His world's wobbling on a new axis, but the rest of the world carries on. It's news - big news - but that's all it is. Five years ago, maybe, he could have called in sick. Now, though, he doesn't get to.

                  He's on the metro when Nosa calls.

                  "Did you see him?" she greets.

                  "Hi Nosa," he replies, turning himself a little towards the window for some semblance of privacy. "Yeah, I saw the news."

                  "Well?"

                  He huffs a little sigh and scowls at the landscape passing in a blur.

                  "Well, what?" he says. "Yeah, it's Takashi. They already confirmed it."

                  "I mean, how are you doing?" Nosa asks, impatience creeping into her tone.

                  "I don't" - he breaks off and pushes his hair back from his forehead - "I'm happy he's alive, I mean, obviously."

                  He doesn't know what else to say. He's never been the best at expressing himself; he crams his feelings up in sticky little notes that catch in his throat and stay there until he swallows them down.

                  "You want to get a drink after work?" Nosa asks.

                  His shoulders loosen and he lets out a breath of relief. This is one of the reasons he and Nosa have stayed friends for so long, even after everything. She’d been Shiro’s friend first, but she’d refused to pick sides when the end came.

                  "Yeah," he admits. "I'd really like that."

                  "Okay. I'll see you at seven, yeah? Take care of yourself."

                  "Thanks, Nosa. You, too," he replies and clicks off the call.

                  The whole Garrison is buzzing when he gets there, and the static excitement doesn't let up all day. No one involved can say anything, and no one wants to be the first to ask, but that doesn't stop the curious looks and half-spoken speculation that whispers through the halls. Adam finds himself hoping, ridiculously, for a glimpse of Takashi. Just a peek, a moment of eye contact.

                  He's not sure what he really wants from it. Maybe just proof that Takashi is really here. Maybe a cool nod to make it clear there's nothing left for them here.

                  He swallows it down, half-formed.

                  Despite the constant hum of expectation, he gets through almost the whole day safe. Even at lunch, the cafeteria is a livewire of whispers and rumors, but the subjects remain unseen. They’re likely still in quarantine, being questioned and tested and debriefed. He can only imagine the the tests the Garrison will have in mind: this group represents an impossibility, and the amount of knowledge to be gained from them is nearly limitless.

                  He’s on his way out when his luck falls through.

                  He’s technically off the clock, but Commander Ramirez’s office is on his way to the exit, so he volunteers to drop off the papers. He thumbs through them as he walks, making sure they’re in the right order; Ramirez runs her units with the precision of a clock, and disorder of any sort is strictly prohibited.

                  It’s only by chance that he looks up as he passes Iverson’s office. It’s only by chance that someone else is leaving and the door swings open for that fraction of a second.

                  White hair. Wide eyes.

                  They catch for half a breath, and Adam feels it like a punch to the chest. The door shuts, the lieutenant brushes past, and he remains. He can’t move. For a few breaths, he simply stares at the door like he can see through it.

 _Takashi._ He’d seen the news, he’d told Nosa, he’d heard the rumors – but none of those add up to the same sensation as seeing it for himself. Takashi is alive. He’s alive and he’s here, just on the other side of the door. It’s impossible. It’s everything he hoped for, four years late.

                  When he finally moves again, it’s as if by rote: his mind is full of black-and-white static, and he’s hardly aware as he passes off the papers to Ramirez’s assistant. He’s numb as he gets on the train.

                  He’s not sure what he expected when – if – he saw Takashi again. Something dramatic, maybe. Something altering. Something more than a glimpse of recognition.

                  Nosa takes one look at him when he gets to the bar and her eyebrows shoot skyward.

                  “Yikes,” she greets.

                  “Thanks,” he grumbles, but there’s no heat in it.

                  She’d commandeered a back table by the time he arrived, tucked into the corner opposite the door, and a beer sits unopened across the table from her. He tilts it to the side as he slides into the seat, checking the label.

                  “Figured you’d want an old favorite,” Nosa explains.

                  She’s not wrong, and he gives her a little smile of gratitude as he pops off the cap.

                  “So,” she says, once he’s taken a drink, “I take it you saw him.”

                  “Sort of,” Adam says. “Not really. Just a glimpse.”

                  He takes another drink before sighing and setting the bottle back down. He sets to picking at the label, peeling the paper back in a long strip. It was an old party trick cultivated for no reason except that he could; even when he couldn’t walk in a straight line, he could peel the bottle label off without a tear.

                  “I just saw him as the door closed,” he explains. “It’s not like we talked or anything.”

                  Nosa nods and takes a drink of her own beer.

                  “Yeah, I figured,” she admits. “Contractors aren’t even allowed in the building right now. Our project has been put on hold indefinitely due to a ‘new development.’”

                  “Giant robot spaceships and aliens,” Adam replies, flat.

                  Nosa laughs.

                  “Yeah, basically the worst kept secret ever,” she affirms.

                  They’re both quiet for a few moments. Adam finishes removing the label and folds it in half with a crisp crease. He folds it in half again and then one more time to make a fat little square.

                  “You ever think this is just nuts?” Nosa asks abruptly. “I mean, our lives. Like, we could’ve been commercial pilots, and instead, our best friends got abducted by aliens.”

                  This time, Adam laughs. He drops his head to his hands, shoulders shaking. He’s twenty-nine and his life is a campy sci-fi story. Aliens, heartbreak, illogical spaceships – the only thing he’s missing is an alien princess in distress.

                  “It’s just batshit,” Nosa continues.

                  She’s laughing too, now, a little helpless, and it feels like they’re back in school, giggling at two A.M.

                  From there, the conversation turns from the current insanity to the rest of their lives. Despite their proximity, they don’t get chances to catch up too often, and there’s only so much that can be said about the returned crew that Nosa didn’t already sum up.

                  They walk to the train together, still early enough that that they’re running every twenty minutes instead of the forty-minute wait that will come later in the night. They’re not students anymore, and Wednesday nights aren’t for staying out till the midnight line anymore.

                  Nosa’s train comes first, and Adam’s left thumbing through the photos on his phone for lack of a better pursuit. He doesn’t take as many photos anymore, but they’ve slowly accumulated till his storage is nearly gone. He swipes through them, wiping pictures of special meals and bad group selfies into the trash.

                  He stops at an old one. There’s no reason for him to have this picture anymore, and in truth, he should have deleted it years ago. Still, even now, he can’t bring himself to. The moment pictured is the same as dozens before it, special only because of what he now knows would happen after.

                  It was the last day before they found out about the Kerberos mission. Takashi had driven them out on his hoverbike miles from the Garrison and they’d eaten a picnic under the scattered shade of a wind-bent tree. If he thinks about it, Adam can still remember the taste of strawberries on Takashi’s lips.

                  In the picture, Takashi’s head rests on Adam’s lap. He’d been dozing as Adam ran his fingertips through his hair, and his eyes are half-lidded as he looks up at the camera with a soft smile. The shadows of leaves dapple his skin, but the desert sun catches in his eye and turns it silver.

                  Now, surrounded by the cool black night, Adam can nearly feel the warmth of that day gentle on his skin. He’d taken the picture for Instagram, but as soon as the shutter had clicked, he knew he wouldn’t post it. There was something too intimate, too dear, about the way Takashi looked up at him with such open affection.

                  And, after everything, he’d kept the picture for that exact reason. There were days when it was the only thing that reminded him that they’d been real.

                  The train comes rattling past as his thumb lingers over the image, and Adam lets out a quiet sigh before locking his phone and stepping onto the train. It was real – but he doesn’t know what, if anything, that means now.

                   He doesn’t have much time to think about it the next day. The gossip hasn’t abated, but some of the data from the crew has finally been pushed out and that takes priority. The glimpses Adam sees as they cross his desk are incredible. He’s itching to see the schematics of their ships by the time he’s read a few lines into the data.

                  It’s a lecture day, though, and he forces himself to drag his thoughts from all the untold possibilities locked behind Iverson’s door. His advanced space operations course still isn’t quite advanced enough for top secret data.

                  At the end of the 90-minute period, there are a few students who linger to ask questions about the course and assignment. One student stays past the start of the next class to ask about an independent study option, and Adam gently guides her into the hall to continue their conversation. He recognizes her from their class discussions – an opinionated cadet who’s not afraid to speak up but is always sure to listen to her group members’ points of view – and isn’t particularly surprised by the scope of the project she’s considering.

                  “I think you’ve got a great start,” he says. “Set up a meeting time with me on Garrison Access so we can figure out the details, okay?”

                  She grins, a bright flash of white, and thanks him before hurrying off to her next class. He smiles a little as he watches her go; he can remember feeling that same chaotic enthusiasm when he was her age. At the time, it had seemed the only thing that stood in his way was time. If he stayed up a little later, slept a little less, pushed himself a little harder, he could achieve anything.

                  He takes off his glasses to rub absently at his eye, mindful of the scar tissue. It reacts strangely to touch – some days perfectly numb, other days a raw live wire.

                  He doesn’t look up when he hears the footsteps.

                  “Hey! Adam! It’s me,” a familiar voice calls out. “Takashi – Shirogane.”

                  And this – oh, this is anything but fair. Adam had loved every part of Takashi. He’d loved his tenacity, his intelligence, his skill. He’d loved the way he knew no challenge he couldn’t meet and met every obstacle with a bared-tooth grin. But everyone loved these things about him. They were common knowledge. Selfishly, Adam couldn’t help thinking they were all the things that had taken Takashi away from him.

                  His Takashi, the private side he treasured, was the one who barely opened his eyes till he’d had his morning coffee, the one who grinned like a kid when he tried a new trick on his hoverbike. The one who, after everything, introduces himself with his full name.

                  It nearly makes his heart break as he turns to see Takashi’s earnest little smile. He resettles his glasses on his nose like they’ll offer some protection.

                  “I know,” Adam blurts out, though it nearly comes out, _‘No shit, Shirogane.’_

                  “Oh. Good,” Takashi says. “I didn’t know with” – he gestures to all of him, shoulder, scar, hair – “It’s been a while.”

                  “Five years,” Adam agrees. He shakes himself as Takashi’s expression turns down just-so. “Sorry, I’m just – still kind of in shock, I guess. We all thought - ”

                  He can’t bring himself to finish. _“We all thought you were dead.”_ It almost feels like saying the words aloud will give them power, make them real. What if this is all some desperate hallucination? What if these are the last fantastical thoughts he’s having as he, himself, races toward the eternal abyss? He can’t risk it.

                  Takashi’s expression turns bruised. It’s not quite like when they were younger, when Adam could read his thoughts with the barest glance – he’s grown older in his time away, locked some part of that away – but Adam knew him heart and soul. His heart hurts with what he sees there now.

                  “Adam,” Takashi starts.

                  His voice is too gentle, too knowing.

                  “I know you’re probably busy,” Adam interrupts. The words bubble out of him in a rush, anything to stop Takashi from trying to take care of him now, “but Nosa’s still around, and y’know, a couple others. Most the group moved out over the years, so it’s not like it’d be a real reunion but - ”

                  He shrugs, like that’s an actual end to the sentence. Takashi’s shoulders have settled now, his expression grown a little more tired and less open. It’s a visual reminder of the years between them: the wide-eyed young captain folded away into the commander who stands before him now.

                  “I’d like that,” Takashi says evenly. “Will you be there?”

                  The question startles Adam, and for a moment, he doesn’t know how to answer. He doesn’t even know what he wants from this. He has no plans made for it, no backups and contingencies. Like a meteor, Takashi came burning through all of them.

                  “Do you want me to?” he asks.

                  It’s not fair to ask. Not to either of them. The words hang suspended in the air as Takashi lets out a hissing breath and looks away, pushing back his bangs. It’s the first time Adam’s seen anything like frustration from him in five years, but the gesture’s one that brings with it the echoes of dozens of memories – late night study sessions, arguments, sleepless nights. If he were an artist, he could draw it with his eyes closed.

                  “Of course I do, Adam,” Takashi says, turning back to him. “I – _God_ , I’ve missed you so much. But I don’t want you to come because you feel like you have to.”

                  He can see how this works out: both of them walking the edges and never letting themselves approach center. They’ve been here before. He takes a breath.

                  “I’ve missed you, too, Takashi,” he says, “and I want to be there. But I don’t think I can pretend like nothing’s changed, and I don’t want to ruin a fun night for you.”

                  The words leave him more vulnerable than he’s felt in years, like he’s laid himself open. Takashi makes an aborted step forward. His shoulder shifts slightly, and Adam’s memory fills in the missing spaces: a hand reaching out, to comfort, to hold.

                  “Things aren’t the way they were,” Takashi says, as if he’s picking his words carefully, “and I know there’s no starting over. But – maybe we could start where we are – somewhere new?”

                  He says it with such tentative hope, as if even that might be too much to ask. And yet, still, he’s the one with the courage to ask it. Adam swallows and gives a small smile.

                  “Where we are sounds like a good place to start,” he says.

                  Takashi smiles, small and relieved and a little sad. _How did we wind up here?_ it seems to ask. It’s a question Adam’s not sure he can answer, but for the first time, he thinks he might be willing to see where they go.

                  “Great,” Takashi says. “I guess I’ll see you tonight, then? We’ve been getting done around seven hundred, but I can do whenever works for you guys. It’s not like my schedule’s packed.”

                  “Seven’s good,” Adam says. “I can pick you up if you don’t want to mess with the metro.”

                  With the after-hours rush, he can only imagine the chaos Takashi’s presence would create. Before Kerberos, they could barely go anywhere without being stopped for a photo or signature. Now, with the news crews circling buzzard-like around the Garrison and flashing a photo of Takashi’s team on TVs every hour, he doesn’t think Takashi would even make it onto the train.

                  “That would be great, if you don’t mind,” Takashi admits. He cracks a little grin. “I didn’t have much use for my metro card in outer space.”

                  Adam snorts, surprising himself. Takashi’s grin widens.

                  “Shirogane.”

                  They both jerk around like students again, as if Iverson’s caught them in the middle of one of their old pranks. For his part, he looks anything but surprised to see them standing together; the resignation on his face is as familiar as the way Takashi straightens reflexively to attention. Iverson sighs.

                  “If you’re done, Commander,” he says, “we could use you inside.”

                  “Sorry, sir,” Takashi says. “I’ll be right in.”

                  It’s clear Iverson isn’t moving, though, and Takashi grimaces but turns to follow him back into the conference room. He’s at the door when he turns back and gives Adam one more fleeting smile. Then, the door slides shut, and Adam’s left in the hallway with his tablet held to his chest.

                  As he turns to head back down to his office, there’s a new effervescence in his chest. He tries to quiet it down but doesn’t stamp too hard. It’s been a long time since he felt this fizzy hope, and he’s not willing to give it up just yet.

**Author's Note:**

> this is (currently) only supposed to have 2 chapters so fingers crossed that sticks around!
> 
> come chat/sob with me on the [tungle](http://curiosity-killed.tumblr.com/)


End file.
